The Tack Room Poem by Francie Lynch

The Tack Room had little to do with horses,
Not anymore, anyway.
It was on the way back to the apartment from College.
It was dark, and barren,
But I could get a hot roast beef
And a bottle of beer for five bucks.
I shouldn't be there.
I'dd watch the stripper.
Not oogle. Enjoy her. And keep it to myself.
I felt guilt, but not Catholic guilt.
We were young. Our prospects were good.
My fidelity was in tact.
She didn't do such stuff.
She worked. A nurse. Gruelling shifts. All hours.
It was harmless.
In The Tack Room.